Wyoming, USA. 6:00 PM.
The setting sun was as red as blood. It painted the peaks of the Teton Range in a dark, golden hue. On Highway 93, an old blue Ford F-150 pickup truck was driving slowly. The paint was peeling, and the chassis was rusty. The engine made a heavy noise, like an old animal struggling to breathe as it bounced along the asphalt road.
Inside the truck, there was no scent of air freshener. Instead, it smelled of old tobacco, cheap leather, and dry hay. This was the unique scent of the American West—rough and wild.
"Ishaan, after this next curve and two more miles, you will see the ranch your Uncle Rajesh left for you."
A woman's voice broke the silence. Ishaan Rao moved his gaze away from the endless yellow grass outside the window. He turned to look at the driver.
The driver was a classic Western woman named Sophia Reed. She looked like she had stepped out of a vintage poster. By Eastern standards, Sophia was "large" in certain places. But here, in this wild land, her beauty was powerful. She wore a flannel plaid shirt that was stretched tight across her chest.
She was about thirty-five years old. Her golden wavy hair was pinned back casually. A few strands of hair touched her red cheeks. Her features were deep, and there were faint smile lines around her eyes. This did not decrease her charm; instead, it gave her the ripeness of a peach.
Every time she turned the steering wheel, the top two buttons of her flannel shirt seemed to struggle. The seatbelt pressed deep into her chest, and with every bump in the road, her curves moved slightly.
"Aunt Sophia, thank you for picking me up from the Jackson Hole airport," Ishaan said with a polite smile.
His smile was clean. He had the deep eyes and long lashes typical of his heritage. His bronze skin glowed in the sunset. Compared to the local "Rednecks" who were as bulky as grizzly bears, Ishaan was lean and fit. In this rough Western world, his refined look was like a leopard among wolves.
"Oh, good Lord, don't call me Auntie. That makes me sound like an old lady who only bakes apple pies," Sophia said, rolling her blue eyes. However, her eyes were full of a clear, warm smile.
She turned her head and looked at Ishaan's young, handsome face for two seconds. Her voice became a bit softer. "Call me Sophia. You can even call me 'Sister,' even though I might be older than your late mother."
"Alright, Sophia," Ishaan replied easily.
He had inherited the ranch of his distant uncle, Rajesh Rao. It was a classic story: Ishaan had just graduated from university and was unemployed. Suddenly, he received a lawyer's letter from Wyoming. His uncle, who had come to America thirty years ago, had died of a heart attack on a tractor. The uncle had no wife or children. After checking the family tree, the "Sunset Creek" ranch was given to nineteen-year-old Ishaan.
There was no "system" or magical help. He only had a one-way ticket and $800 in his pocket.
"Ishaan, I have to warn you," Sophia said as she turned the wheel with one hand. The truck turned onto a gravel path, and the shaking became worse. "Rajesh was a good man, but when a man stays single for too long, his life becomes a mess. That ranch... well, it has a lot of 'character'."
"'Character' usually means it costs a lot of money to fix," Ishaan joked.
"You are a smart boy," Sophia laughed. The vibration of her laughter made her chest move. The temperature inside the truck seemed to rise because of her intense feminine energy. "But don't worry. You are right next door to my house. If you have heavy work you can't do, you can ask my idiot husband for help... if he isn't drunk at the bar."
Ishaan noticed the information: "Is Old Harris still drinking?"
Old Harris was Sophia's husband. Ishaan had heard about him from the lawyer's emails.
"Ha! Drinking?" Sophia laughed coldly. A flash of anger and disgust appeared in her eyes. "Ever since that bastard crashed his truck last year, he has been like a pile of mud on the sofa. Now, he does nothing but shout at the football games on TV. The only part of him that still 'works' is probably his liver."
Sophia realized it was inappropriate to complain about her husband's "weakness" to a young man she just met. Her face turned red, and she bit her full lips nervously. "Sorry, I shouldn't say such things to you."
"It's okay. Life is not easy," Ishaan said calmly. He did not look embarrassed. Instead, he looked at her with understanding and kindness. "Sophia, you have to take care of three children and manage your own ranch. It must be very hard. You are a very strong woman."
These words were like a missile, hitting the softest part of this Wyoming woman's heart. Sophia froze for a moment. She looked deeply at Ishaan. The sunset glowed on the young man's face. His eyes were clear and his voice was sincere. He was nothing like the local men who only whistled at her body.
"...You are such a sweetheart, Ishaan," Sophia's voice suddenly became a bit raspy. Her eyes became moist. "If Rajesh had been half as charming as you, he wouldn't have been alone his whole life."
The truck finally stopped in front of a crooked wooden gate. A sign hung above it. The word "Sunset" was missing letters, now reading only "SU Set." It looked like a silent joke.
"We are here. This is Sunset Creek Ranch."
Sophia pulled the handbrake and turned off the engine. Ishaan stepped out of the truck. A cold wind hit him immediately. In Wyoming, the temperature drops very fast after the sun goes down.
In front of him was a scene of wild desolation. There were sixty acres of open land covered in tall weeds. Nearby was a two-story wooden house with missing roof tiles. Next to the house was a large red barn with peeling paint. An old green tractor sat at the barn door, its wheels trapped by thick grass.
In this land of guns and wilderness, Ishaan's challenge had just begun.